Summer Woe


*Image found HERE

Summer Woe

Softly, the June threads over the posies;
lulls a cloud out of tears, softly
a hand dressing the barren in polka dots
until you no longer recognize
the wound from a beating heart.
I ask the cab driver does he think
the dead care of seasons;
do they pay for their tickets?
Do they ever kneel before the rows of blackberries
with their gaping, ethereal mouths?
He does not know, and I am thirsty;
the river is not mine.
I hunger for the pines,
proverbial green humming through a mist;
watching the field wane, grow yellow for love,
bloat into squashes.
I hunger for pain that echoes
as far as underworld,
for fled music,
coiling around the tree trunks;
mocking these summer dames, their
dreams as dry as a dessert,
their sea as shallow as an art nouveau vase.
Softly, but I hunger, yet still
for the cracked ribs to grow an almond,
for an ant to crawl in its shade
and sleep,
a maddening that unhinges Saturn loose:

my dress of reeds and undead, reddened leaves,
the whiteness of the hills untouched, or mornings
unsolicited, unmade, unfolded from the dark;
I dream of use.

*As usual, the dessert part is not a typo! I actually mean dessert, not desert! I find most desserts too dry for me to like them, hence why that image. Hope you enjoy reading!

16 responses to “Summer Woe”

    1. Thank you, I am glad you enjoyed reading! 🙂

  1. I love how you mix images of pain and bliss… maybe it just should hurt.

    1. After a while, it becomes a song, I think, whether we want it or not.

  2. Excellent poem and lovely picture.

    1. Thank you, so happy you liked it!

    1. Thank you, I am happy you enjoyed reading. Have a wonderful day!

  3. Ah! That dream, that hunger… should that be the end of us?
    I feel more pain in the summers, because everything’s so bright and upfront and wherever you look, everything comes off unhinged, so very raw, so very open.

    You create an enchanting scene… it’s like Circe’s cauldron with all the colorful hues.
    I think that the dead care for seasons, more so than those alive. I think that our dreams are ephemeral, unlike those of the dead.

    You are a wonderful, wonderful poet, Oloriel. 🙂

    1. I sympathise with you over the Summer feelings! Somehow, I think it goes all out on us. There is no little bit hot. You are either burning or not! I also dislike it due to health reasons, besides the constant glow and light.
      I am glad however at least the poems give us summer scenery we can enjoy! 🙂
      Thank you for your lovely compliments, as well!

  4. “the wound from a beating heart”… you leave me speechless, Mirjana… so beautiful, so intense…

    1. Thank you! I am glad the poem, upon rereading from my own side, sounds like a summer tune. It is hard to give the arid air a face.

  5. You had to talk about cakes!

    1. Mir smells like cake atm….

      1. He always smells like cake to you 😛

      2. No, sometimes he smells like cookies! 🙂

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About Me

I don’t mind the sun sometimes,
the images it shows,
I can taste you on my lips
and feel you in my clothes.
Cinnamon and sugary
and softly spoken lies,
you never know just how you look
through other people’s eyes


Colour me in Cayenne & Chlorine Poetry Collection
Suburban Witchcraft Magazine
Colour me in Cyanide and Cherries Poetry Collection

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